“This slave is Master’s own medium, and on my body, he expresses his most sacred art.” Master has told me that before while admiring my bruises or wiping away the blood from the lashes of his whip, while propping my ankles in the stirrups and inspecting my anus with a gloved finger to make sure there aren’t any fissures or tears. Because Master is generally a stoic man, it took me a while to notice his tells of excitement and arousal, other than the obvious ones of course, but I’ve since learned what gets him off psychologically. He likes it when I cry, when I beg, and when I’m in pain. He likes to hurt me, then care for me afterward. He likes to invent scenarios that will test my limits and methodically deliver them with scientific precision. I believe he makes hypotheses and draws conclusions, and he may even share his findings with his friends. I know for a fact they’ve brainstormed scenes and then observed while Master executed them.
Sir is not a sadist, so there are some things he will never understand, but as to the other aspects of domination... I repeat to Sir the words Master has said to me, “My skin is a living canvas that Master remakes every time, nursing it to perfect health only to desecrate it again.”
Sir contemplates this and says, “I know the virtues of a slave, but are there virtues for a Master too?”
I sit up in the bed, delighted that he’s showing interest. “Master and slave share two virtues—patience and gratitude. A Master must be patient in training and correcting their slave and must show gratitude for their slave’s sacrifices. The other virtues of a Master are pride and dominance.” Of course, every Master is different and their techniques for training vary just as much, but all of my Master’s discipline and even my punishments, circle back to our virtues.
“Pride, like arrogance?” Sir asks.
“No, not like that. A Master must take pride in himself and his slave and their relationship. The Master is proud so that the slave may be humble. Humility is this slave’s virtue, and one cannot achieve true humility without my Master’s pride. But I am also proud to serve my Master, so in this way Master’s pride is my own. Like dominance and submission, pride and humility feed each other.”
The first time Master fucked me in front of a few of his most trusted friends was my lesson in humility. It was like losing my virginity, the virginity that was stolen from me. Master helped me to reclaim it, so that I might give it to him before witnesses as a kind of sacred rite. And after I demonstrated this virtue, Master collared me. It was magical. It was perfect.
“And this slave business…” Sir says. “Can you explain to me why you like being treated this way?”
I always feel a little overwhelmed when discussing the gifts Master has given me, and it also tends to touch on aspects of my past. “My mother was not a good person. She had demons, and they would whisper from her mouth to my ears, and eventually her demons became my own.” I pause there, and Sir only motions for me to continue. “The demons don’t have my best interest at heart, and they can get very loud, sometimes drowning out my own desires altogether. And they can take over sometimes.” Sir nods, probably recalling my episode right after Master left. “And I get confused about who to listen to and what to believe. With Master, I know I can trust him and that he wants what’s best for me, so when the demons start to act up, I listen for his voice. And I don’t have to be unsure or overwhelmed by decisions because Master has already decided for me. Master knows best.”
It sounds trite when I say it, but I absolutely believe it. Even when I’m being punished, I know that it comes from a place of love and devotion. Master makes the effort because he wants me to be better.
“And you also like serving him?” Sir asks.
“I’m at my best when serving my Master and you too, Sir,” I tell him because that’s also true. “I’m useful. My life has a purpose and direction. I don’t have to think too far ahead, only what Master needs or desires from me. And when Master is pleased with me, I’m proud of myself and I know that my life has meaning.”
“Your life has meaning with or without him, Giovanni,” Sir says. Master would say the same, and just as I do with him, I tilt my head and choose not to argue.
I think of Mary Magdalene, a repentant prostitute and promiscuous woman who became a beloved companion to Jesus. She was the one who anointed Jesus’s feet and made Peter jealous with the special attentions Jesus gave her. Mary is also said to have been possessed by demons that required regular exorcisms by Jesus’s hand. Did Jesus seek succor from Mary’s body as Master does from mine? Did Mary find her life’s meaning in serving him?
“Master is a great man,” I tell Sir. “Master nourishes me with his seed and takes care of my body and my mind. He also uses me for pleasure, as is his right. When you look atThe Last Supper, do you consider the importance of the canvas on which Leonardo da Vinci painted it? Probably not, but the canvas is important all the same. This is the role of aschiavo.”
Sir cradles his chin with his thumb and forefinger and stares at me like I’m a riddle he simply cannot solve. Well, he’s not the only one.
We’re watchingsoccer again when another letter from Master arrives, and this time I’m actually paying attention to the game. Sir has educated me on Napoli’s starting lineup and their particular strengths (no weaknesses). I’ve picked my favorite players according to their looks and their ability to convince the referees there’s been a foul.
In addition to letters, Master and I have been sending care packages too. Master has sent me rare books and sheet music and postcards with art pieces he thinks I’ll appreciate. The last one was calledThe Brothersand it depicted three Italian-looking men, one older on a motorcycle, one middle-aged in profile, and the youngest, with soft features and a yearning gaze, standing off to the side. I suppose it reminded Master of our current arrangement, our littlefamiglia. In addition to my letters, I’ve sent Master a lock of my hair and a few photographs that I asked Anthony to have printed for me in town. Sir also recorded my piano playing and sent him that as well.
This time with his letter, Master has included a return envelope and instructions. I stand and strip out of my briefs and seal them in the envelope for Anthony to take back with him to the post office tomorrow.
“What are you doing?” Sir wants to know.
“Master wants something with my scent.”
“My brother is a genius,” Sir says and then, “I want your next pair. Get them good and dirty for me, princess.”
“Yes, Sir,” I say with a smile.
Sir doesn’t go back to watching the game but mutes the television and turns toward me. “You really want to go back to that, Giovanni?”
“Back to what?”
“Back to being hisschiavo?”
Sir is mistaken. There’s no “going back” to anything. “Iamhisschiavo.”
“But don’t you want to, ah, pursue your dreams or something?”
There are many slaves in the lifestyle who have careers outside of their service to their Masters as well as thriving social lives, and they are fully supported in that way, but I have no desire to have a career. Master says it’s enough that I’m healthy and have good self-esteem. I’m safe with Master and I’m loved. What more could I want?
“My only dream is to serve Master. That is this slave’s sole purpose and desire.”
